


newly discovered constellations (as seen over new york city)

by sidnihoudini



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, new york fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach nods and licks his lips - he’s drunk enough to bring it up, but he isn’t drunk enough to do anything about it.  And they’ve had a hard road, together.  Right from the start they had set fires in one another, and it had taken years and two coastlines to tramp the flames out.  Now, standing in Zach’s kitchen, Zach smiles, softly, slowly, and it’s like a safety net, knowing that Chris still feels that, knowing that Chris hasn’t left him in the dark all by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	newly discovered constellations (as seen over new york city)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the artwork of the same name by [Gemma Correll](https://twitter.com/gemmacorrell/status/458629412158586880).

**newly discovered constellations (as seen over new york city)**

**constellation one: the discarded cappuccino**

“It’s just all so unbelievably maudlin,” Zach frowns, iPhone up against one ear as he steps between two small Korean ladies who are incredibly ballsy in their attempts to take up the entire city sidewalk. Tucking his elbows into his sides so he doesn’t knock the women over, Zach navigates around a puddle, and brings his drink up to take a sip. “Like it’s New York City, not, you know. Germany in the 1940s.”

On the other end of the line, Chris laughs, rough and low - Zach kind of forgot about the time difference while he was waiting in line at the bistro for his coffee.

“That’s taking it a little far, man,” Chris says, but Zach can tell he’s smiling.

Rolling his eyes, Zach steps down off of the curb and hurries across the empty-for-now street. He feels the first telltale drop of rain hit his cheek, and says, “You know what I mean though, right? Like, life doesn’t have to be a Lana Del Rey song unless you have a hard-on for - ”

“Lip filler and abusive relationships?” Chris supplies, and Zach knows he must feel a little dirty because they were both equally captivated by her last album.

Laughing, Zach heads under an awning and looks up the street, towards his apartment.

“No, what is this? Leave Lana alone,” He grins, trying to ignore the next rain drop that lands on the lens of his glasses.

That really makes Chris laugh, he sounds more awake now as he gapes and asks, “Was that an internet reference?!”

“Whatever,” Chris is totally the internet plebe, not Zach. Zach has Instagram, and tons of Twitter followers. Recently his brother showed him the best places to illegally stream the television shows he never has time to watch. “You asked me why I broke up with him, there’s your answer.”

Chris makes a hum of agreeance, and then Zach hears the click of a lamp. “I thought it was his weird pigeon legs.”

“Hey,” Zach replies without thinking about it, as he side steps a flower stall. “Don’t be a bitch. It’s not a good look.”

Laughing, Chris groans and yawns, and then says, “Whatever, judgey.”

“ _You’re_ judgy. You’re as bad as your mother,” Zach says, laughing a little when he thinks about all the shit that he’s personally heard come out of her mouth during communal viewings of The Voice and American Idol at the residence Pine Seniors. “Actually, your mom sent me a link to some weird new environmental clothes technology thing. It was weird. I said thanks and immediately deleted it.”

Chris sighs and shuffles something around in the background - bed clothes, maybe.

“I know, she sent that to everyone. It’s some weird new pyramid scheme that her friend is doing. It’s like totally organic hiking clothes or something, I don’t know. Don’t pick up the phone if she calls you, it’s totally a trick.”

Laughing, Zach bounces up the front steps of his brownstone and starts digging his keys out of his jacket pocket. He has to shuffle his coffee and iPhone around as he says, “Duly noted. Are you still coming out next weekend?”

“Of course I am,” Chris answers, sounding both flat and excited at the same time. “I am going to park my ass on your couch and enjoy the absolute shit out of my three day vacation. Get the booze ready, cause daddy’s coming.”

That really makes Zach crack up, as he pushes the front door open and tries to toe Noah and Skunk back in with one foot. They’re both total brats and hazards to everyone around them and are the absolute joy of Zach’s everyday life.

“That’s going in the reminder I set on my phone. Pick daddy up from the airport,” He jokes, getting the door closed behind him.

His drink is hardly half empty but he deposits it on the front counter as he passes by the kitchen en route to his bedroom anyways.

“Write that one down,” Chris replies, laughing more.

~

**constellation two: the overpriced cupcake**

“Sorry,” Zach apologizes, clearly trying to swallow down the grin that’s threatening to spill over his face.

He may have gone a little too compact with the rental car he picked up just for this occasion. With one hand rested on the gear shift, Zach glances across at Chris, who is - for lack of a better descriptor - packed into the passenger seat. His knees are pressed up against the dashboard, torso twisted awkwardly to compensate for the lack of head room that the car affords.

“For what?” Chris manages, sounding a little out of breath. “The car, or the cupcake?”

At that, Zach immediately breaks the cardinal rule and begins to laugh at Chris instead of with him.

Chris makes a face as he switches the hand holding the massive, pastel icing covered cupcake that Zach had presented him with at the front gate. Zach had been in a bit of a time crunch on his way in - the cupcake stand had been the only food type place that hadn’t presented an excruciatingly long line up of customers after he’d received Chris’ emergency “need food now” text.

“Both, maybe?” Zach replies, his voice pitching a little higher on the ‘maybe?’ “Actually, I’m not sorry about the cupcake. You better like it because it was like, a fifteen dollar investment.”

Inhaling sharply, Chris starts trying to pull the wrapper away from one side of the cupcake as Zach cautiously navigates them into the outbound traffic lane at JFK.

“Ouch, man. We could’ve bought an entire cake for that,” Chris sighs, shaking his head a little. 

He _has_ been on a pretty strict no carb all protein diet, but he’s also officially on vacation now, and this cupcake does smell an alarming amount like vanilla and Dunkaroos. It would be a personal affront to his twelve year old self if he didn’t wolf this down in three bites.

Zach half smiles and glances across the car at Chris. He raises one eyebrow and adds, “Or a bottle of whiskey.”

“Whisky infused cupcakes,” Chris replies, which would actually be totally fucking gross, before opening his mouth wide enough to navigate around the entire left side of his cupcake. It looks freakishly similar to an anaconda unhinging its jaw before eating a woodland rat. Zach actually has to glance over a few times with a horrified expression on his face to fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.

When Chris looks back over at him, there’s icing on his mouth and his cheeks are puffed out wide.

“Aduly id’s rearly grood,” He says, trying not to choke as he wipes the icing off of his mouth with one dainty finger.

Zach laughs, horrified, and leans over the steering wheel, still grinning as he says, “Your beard definitely took some of that on.”

“I neeb a beer comb,” Chris continues, laughing and coughing before he covers his mouth with one hand and closes his eyes. A significant amount of concentration and zen goes into the next minute and a half of chewing and swallowing, all of which Zach just continues to shake his head over.

Once Chris has managed to eat the cupcake and snag a few sips from Zach’s water bottle, Zach says, “You don’t need a beard comb, you need some dignity, man, jesus.”

“I miss cupcakes,” Chris shrugs, glancing over at Zach as they come to a stop at a red light.

Grinning, Zach leans forward to roll his window down - the newest, smallest, smartest car on the market and it somehow does not have power windows or lock - and light up a cigarette.

“Ballsy move in a rental,” Chris adds, raising his eyebrows. “I myself was going to wait until we got home.”

Zach taps a cigarette out of the pack he pulls down from behind the sunvisor, and shrugs, popping it between his dry lips as he glances forward, squinting up at the traffic light to make sure it hasn’t already changed back to red.

“Watching you eat that cupcake was the equivalent of drunk watching kink pornography,” He shrugs, pausing as he lights his cigarette up and tosses his lighter back into the center console. “I need some kind of personal therapy right now.”

Amused, Chris raises an eyebrow and leans a little harder on one elbow so he can send his raised eyebrow expression in Zach’s immediate direction.

“ _Drunk_ watching kink porn, Zach, really?” He asks, laughing when Zach coughs on smoke and grins.

They begin inching forward again as the lights turn to green, and Zach looks back over at him with the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth as both hands go back to the steering wheel.

“That was cannibalism, okay,” He says, for lack of anything else to say.

Chris sighs and leans back as far as he can in his seat, accepting the cigarette pack as Zach hands it over to him. He taps the pack and uses his teeth to pull one out before handing it back over to Zach, who takes it and then immediately drops it into the center console with the lighter.

“Life on the edge, man, New York,” He sighs, reaching down to open his window. “Cupcakes and smoking inside of rental cars.”

Half smiling, Zach inhales and exhales smoke without taking the cigarette out of his mouth as he makes a left turn.

“Next we’ll rob a bank,” He adds, looking like he’s mostly joking.

~

**constellation three: the rat**

They’re standing in Zach’s kitchen later that night, doing the dishes and trying to look up new drink recipes on the internet.

“I don’t need fancy - I just don’t want anymore rum and coke,” Zach explains, pausing to turn his head and burp as quietly as he can into his own shoulder. He’d cover his mouth but he’s wrist deep in soapy water as he runs the sponge back and forth over their dinner plates. Zach thinks for a moment, and then adds, “Whisky sours? Whisky sours would be good, I think I still have a thing of bitters in the fridge.”

Chris is sitting on the kitchen counter top a few feet away, swinging his stupid wicker house slippers back and forth as he Googles various recipe search terms on the iPad that he had immediately discovered on the coffee table. Since that discovery, he’s been giving Zach an unbelieveable amount of shit over ever owning it at all.

Zach didn’t mention this to Chris, but Jonathan had actually given it to him last year as a late Christmas present. He didn’t mention it to Chris because it didn’t seem important, and because that had just kind of been why he and Jon had just never worked - they were always _close_ , kind in the way that Jonathan had loaded the thing with eBooks for Zach to read - but they had just never been _right_.

It had never been easy with Jonathan. In fact, one of life’s littlest mysteries that continues to plague Zach is how decidedly _not_ easy every romantic relationship he’s ever been part of has been.

Frowning into the soapy water, Zach tosses two forks into his dish rack, and reaches for a pot.

“Whisky sours are boring, man, let’s live a little,” Chris continues, oblivious the internal monologue that Zach is having with himself as he washes their dishes. “Do you have a blender? Let’s make margaritas!”

Zach makes a face, “Margaritas are for the summer and people who tan too much.”

“We can’t all have your perfect Italian complexion, my friend,” Chris sighs, though he clearly flips to the next recipe, his finger dragging from one side of the screen to the other. “I guess we could do whisky sours. Or maybe something with tequila.”

Unclogging the drain, Zach reaches to wipe his hands off on a towel, and says, “I totally have a whole thing of Jose.”

“Excellent,” Chris nods, concentrating hard as he starts typing a new search term into Google. He raises one eyebrow after a second, and looks over at Zach from behind the top line of the iPad. “No drunk run to the liquor store necessary, then.”

Zach makes a face like he’s eaten something sour, and shakes his head ‘no.’

“Tequila,” Chris says under his breath, licking his lips.

Without meaning to, Zach finds himself watching Chris tap at the iPad screen. Historically he’s a terrible texter, and it looks like that’s translating to Zach’s tablet, as well. Every minute or so, Chris knots his eyebrows and swears under his breath when the Apple innovation clearly does not move in the same way that his brain does.

“Hey,” Zach says, listening to the sound of the sink drain. Honestly, he’s still thinking about Jonathan’s Christmas present currently in Chris’ possession. Chris glances up and over to him just as Zach asks, his voice curious and recklessly careful, “You ever think about us?”

There’s a heavy, hot moment that passes between them the second that the words are out of Zach’s mouth. It’s heavy like the feeling in your stomach just before you cross the threshold into the dentist’s office, heavy like the ache between your shoulders when you have to carry something too far, sit too still, too straight.

Heavy like the way they used to be when they were both living in California and shooting the first movie - their mouths pressed together in the dark, both babies compared to the people they are now. When Zach had been in the closet, and Chris had happily followed him around Silverlake with that dumb, sincere smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Chris answers, with that unreadable look on his face that Zach has seen him get in the middle of interviews, where he gives absolutely nothing away even though you can tell fireworks are happening on the inside. Chris blinks once, the iPad screen dims, and he rubs his chin with one hand as he repeats, “Yeah - sometimes, I do.”

Zach nods and licks his lips - he’s drunk enough to bring it up, but he isn’t drunk enough to do anything about it. And they’ve had a hard road, together. Right from the start they had set fires in one another, and it had taken years and two coastlines to tramp the flames out. Now, standing in Zach’s kitchen, Zach smiles, softly, slowly, and it’s like a safety net, knowing that Chris still feels that, knowing that Chris hasn’t left him in the dark all by himself.

“My uh, my mom,” Chris starts, voice soft and rough as he sets the iPad face up on the counter beside him and nervously scratches at the back of his neck. “She used to read me these stories where humans had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces.”

Zach laughs a little, amused, and crosses his arms over his chest as he says, “That’s Plato.”

“Well, whatever,” Chris shrugs, “Plato or Walt Disney, listen to me.”

Still smiling a little bit, Zach nods his head and mirrors Chris without meaning to, one hand going to the back of his own neck as he concedes and says, “Alright.”

“I can’t remember who it was - Zeus, I think - he split all these people into two separate beings, I guess he had a bad day or something,” Chris continues, breaking up the quiet, warm thrum between them to laugh and drop the hand from the back of his neck into his lap. He looks over at Zach and shrugs, “He condemned them into spending their lives in search of their other halves.”

Nodding, Zach thinks about all of the Plato he’d read right out of high school, back when he listened to The Cure all day and grew his hair out way too long to be socially justifiable. He thinks about Chris doing the same thing, across the same continent in warm Southern California, with his blue eyes and his WASP-y parents, his hands tracing the same pages of the same book.

“It’s compelling,” Zach agrees, pulling at the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Chris bites his bottom lip, looking nervous and a bit too drunk before he spits out, “I can’t lose that, man. That’s a lot to forfeit once a relationship has run its course.”

They don’t say anything for a long moment, just watching one another in the yellow bathed light of Zach’s kitchenette. It’s not even a real kitchen, like the one that he has in California, it’s just a stack of appliances and one cupboard that houses both his dry goods and his dishware. Like he isn’t supposed to stay here, like he isn’t supposed to get too comfortable.

“What if it doesn’t end?” Zach asks, feeling like he’s playing devil’s advocate for a second.

Chris smiles, looking sullen but content with himself, with Zach, before he shrugs one shoulder and says, “Everything ends.”

“Very zen master,” Zach laughs, even though his stomach is still sad, low in his body and potentially flipped upside down.

Raising both shoulders up and down in an ‘I don’t know, man’ type motion, Chris blinks and then makes a face when a loud scratching sound comes out of nowhere. It sounds like a hen scratching at the ground, almost, something small and quick scuttling from point A to point B.

“What the fuck was that?” Chris asks, alarmed, as he bounces down off of the counter.

Zach reaches across the counter for the bottle of rum they’ve been working on all night - it feels like the time for fancy drink recipes has passed, now that they’re both on the train to Maudlin Town, population: Chris and Zach - and shrugs.

“I have a mouse or a rat thing. I already called my landlord about it,” He shrugs, taking a swig directly from the rum bottle.

Horrified, Chris makes a face at him and then reaches forward to snatch the iPad off of the counter. He looks at the wall again, where the same noise is still coming through the drywall, and then takes the rum out of Zach’s hand.

“Hey,” Zach says, gravitating back towards Chris as he pulls away.

Chris shakes his head and starts back into the living room, booze and electronic implement fully in hand. He looks over his shoulder at Zach and says, “I’m Googling an emergency exterminator. I hate rats.”

~

**constellation four: the aching melancholy**

A few hours later, Zach sets Chris up on the couch, and then heads to bed by himself.

It’s a strange thing, this balancing act that he and Chris have. Over the years they’ve set up this series of checks and balances that they both eye warily, each of them poised over different starting lines. It had been different - they had been different - before Zach had come out. Zach frowns, closing his bedroom door behind himself. He doesn’t know if either of them have ever said anything out loud, but personally - privately - he knows that was when everything changed.

Zach flips the bedside light on, and begins unbuttoning his shirt from the collar down.

Chemistry had never been a problem for them. He still remembers the exact moment he’d met Chris. Zach had a lot of people in his life, most coming and going, some that he remembered meeting for the first time, others just fading in from somewhere in the background. But Chris - Chris, he remembered. Reverently, almost, in the same way that he still held onto holiday memories and teenaged wild nights.

They’d met on a back door stoop. A quick hand shake, a grin, and their trainer had said something that Zach doesn’t remember now - that part didn’t matter. Zach just remembers seeing Chris’ face, and feeling a switch flip.

Like someone had finally held a painting the right way up, and finally - finally - the picture made sense.

Exhaling into a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself, almost, Zach folds his shirt in half and then drapes it over the armchair at the foot of his bed. Whisky clearly makes him maudlin.

On the bedside table, Zach’s iPhone vibrates. He had brought it in earlier in the night to charge, and with Chris’ company, he had promptly forgotten about it.

Zach unbuttons the front of his jeans and heads towards the sound, where the screen has lit up and is casting a blue white glow against the base of his lamp. He picks it up and isn’t surprised to see that it’s Chris. Who else would text him at two o’clock in the morning?

 _baby is significantly drunk right now,_ the text says. A smile creeps onto Zach’s face and he laughs softly, sitting down on the edge of his bed as he goes to text back.

 _pleasantly buzzed, though i have to admit to being rawls level of melancholy right now,_ Zach texts back. He only hesitates for a moment before he presses send.

A moment passes, then, _where the red fern grows. that shit killed me in sixth grade, man. i was a mess._

 _so that’s when it started,_ Zach replies, going back to the zipper of his jeans. He wants to get his pants off so he can get between his sheets, stat. Drunk limbs love clean sheets. Zach frowns a little, and then texts, _drunk limbs love clean sheets._

Enough time passes between texts that Zach is able to get his pants off and kicked a few feet away on the floor. He’s pulling his bed clothes down when Chris responds. His text says, _i get to be the clean sheets, then, drunk limbs._

 _baby *is* significantly drunk,_ Zach texts back, not knowing what else to say. His face feels hot, chest tight, as he thinks about Chris’ words as he’s sending back his own.

There’s another long, hesitant pause before Chris’ reply comes. It says, _i know it’s a pussy move to say this via text._

Zach’s stomach drops into his knees. He waits, watching the screen, as the little “...” indicator disappears, and then comes back before disappearing again. He can almost hear Chris swallowing nervously in the other room. Zach’s eyebrows jerk up into his hairline as he looks at the door, expecting Chris to burst through it at any moment.

He doesn’t. Instead, Zach’s iPhone vibrates again, the screen lighting up. The text says, _i really miss you when you’re here, and i’m there. it’s physical, like losing a limb. sometimes it makes me want to be selfish. most times it makes me want to be selfish. there are a significant number of reasons why i know i shouldn’t bring it up at all, which is why I only ever say anything when we’re like this._

Drunk? Zach wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He scrolls back up, until he reaches the beginning of Chris’ text, and then he reads it again. This is one of those moments ruled by their check-and-balance system, where one of them has strayed a bit too far to the side, come just a little too close to letting something raw show.

 _we’ll figure it out,_ Zach replies, not knowing what else to say. _we always do._

~

**constellation five: the overcrowded subway car**

The next morning, they are both decidedly less weepy as they wander through the village together.

It’s drizzling enough to count as grey outside, the skies above them bright and vast and wide open as they walk from Zach’s favorite coffee shop to a flower stand, past a corner store full of magazines and jars of ten cent candy. They’re both on this side of too quiet - Chris reticent about his text bomb, Zach cautious about the words that might spill out of his own mouth.

“I’m thinking about going gluten free,” Chris says, as they both step around a kid who’s disconnected the chain on her bike, and has decided to stop and fix it in the middle of the sidewalk.

Zach raises his eyebrows and sips his coffee, then asks, “Like, for real gluten free, or gluten free until I go to the bar and then it’s all wings and hamburgers and beer?”

“Like, I don’t know. Gluten free gluten free,” Chris shrugs, slowing down to an almost complete stop as he carefully peels the lid back off of his coffee cup. He glances up at Zach and explains, “They didn’t put it on right, it’s leaking all over my hand.”

Sipping his own coffee, Zach wrinkles his nose, and says, “Gluten free sucks. You do paleo now, right?”

“With the exception of the airport cupcake,” Chris grins, coffee cup road worthy again as they begin moving forward, across the cracks in the sidewalks and down the city block. Chris loves New York, and he loves it best when Zach is leading him around town. “I read one of those propaganda recipe books and it made the whole gluten free thing sound very compelling.”

Zach laughs and wipes his nose, shrugging, “I’m a Quinto, man. I was born with a carb in my mouth.”

Laughing, Chris cuts himself off to make an ‘ooh’ noise as they pass by a clothing store that has a pretty Chris-centric front window display. Lots of different textures, clean white typeface, and pop culture references to eighties movies. The Pine trifecta. It’s basically what Zach imagines a Don Draper-esque Chris would create, before stopping to jack off all over the whole thing.

Chris angles an eyebrow in Zach’s direction, and asks, “You mind if we go in?”

Making a ‘no, not at all’ face complete with hand gesture, Zach holds the door open as Chris steps through first, feet sounding heavy against the wooden planked floor as the bell jingles and the door slowly swings closed behind them. The girl sitting behind the huge white slab counter looks bored but friendly, waving at them with the curl of a few fingers before going back to the screen of her iPhone.

“Man, Zach, look at this,” Chris says, voice reverent as he reaches for a standard issue flannel button down shirt. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the fold of the cuff, clearly appreciative of the gold button he finds there.

Zach can’t help but laugh because Chris is still so unbelievably predictable, even after all these years. He reaches for the shirt on the hanger next to Chris’ pick. It’s grey, clean lined, and very much something that Zach would wear. Maybe not on a daily basis, but definitely on a junket. Either way Chris doesn’t seem to notice as he checks the price tag of his own fleece shirt, and then whistles low under his breath.

“You gotta pay to be a baller, man,” Zach says over his shoulder, as he steps around the rack of shirts.

There’s a pause before Chris looks over at Zach and asks, “How much would your opinion of me change if I admitted to you that I shop at Urban Outfitters on a semi-regular basis?”

He looks like he’s about to wait for a response from Zach, until he gets sidetracked by a long, thin table full of bowls of gold jewelry.

“Dude,” Zach says, making a face as he watches Chris’ back, stooped over to thumb through a bowl of rings. “I’ve known that for years. That’s like, circa 2009. It’s hardly a secret, too, Zoe makes fun of you all the time.”

Chris is pointedly scowly and owl-eyed as he looks up from the table, a thin rose gold chain laid across and over his open palm. Zach can’t help but snort at the expression on Chris’ face as Chris frowns and says, “You two are like the mean cheerleaders in high school.”

“You’re too easy,” Zach chides, glancing up from the rack that he’s poking through.

When he looks up he means to look in Chris’ direction, but instead he accidentally catches eyes with the cashier behind the counter. It’s a total fluke on both their parts - Zach didn’t realize he had travelled into such close proximity to the counter, and by the blush rising in her cheeks, it’s pretty obvious she didn’t think she would be caught looking.

Zach offers her a quick pulse of a half smile and then looks back down to the jackets he’s thumbing through.

“What about this one?” Chris asks, sounding like he’s already made up his mind as he holds up a bracelet. It’s more masculine than the thin, sweet band that he had been holding before had been. It’s definitely not the ugliest thing that Zach has ever had to vet for him, which is a solid step in the right direction.

Zach nods and shrugs, then says, “I like it. Rose gold is big this year.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, clearly not realizing that Zach has already heavily researched this trend on Pinterest. He tilts his head to the side, and weighs the bracelet against his wrist.

As Chris goes up to the counter to pay, Zach lurks around the garment racks a bit more and accidentally spies on Chris’ interactions with the cashier. As usual, the girl is pretty much stumbling all over herself and Chris is totally oblivious, dropping his credit card on the floor and then getting sidetracked by a rack of fancy looking lighters as she hurriedly rings his bracelet through.

Sometimes - sometimes Zach wonders what people would think if they were ever caught out together, like this. There’s a shame-y, warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when he wonders if anyone has ever mistaken them for a couple. The only one who had ever asked the question to their faces had been a British interviewer during the first press junket, back when they actually had been fucking on the reg.

But, like all things, she had been quickly handled by Chris’ publicist. She had been given a quiet and hushed talking to in the corner of the well lit room while they had both sat there awkwardly, staring wide-eyed back at the film crew still set up in front of them.

“You mind if we grab a bite now? That coffee made me hungry,” Chris says, shattering Zach’s memory of that press day. He jiggles the bag a little as he approaches Zach, and raises his eyebrows.

Zach nods and smiles, still trying to shake the feeling, and then says, “Yeah - let’s take the train back to my neighborhood. There’s a pretty decent pub right down my street.”

“Sounds perfect, man,” Chris nods, pushing through the door first and then holding it open for Zach, their hands brushing as they transfer main door holding responsibilities. “Little hair of the dog and some grease. Do you know how their Bloody Marys are?”

Raising his eyebrows, Zach immediately answers, “Delicious. You remember that breakfast place we went to all the time in Sydney? Like that, but with more celery.”

“Chris approved,” Chris smiles, swinging his gaze over to look at Zach.

Zach pulses a smile back, letting himself oogle the side of Chris’ profile a bit more before they fall into a companionable silence, the only sound between them the press of their shoe soles on concrete - the sound of the small bag still swinging back and forth in Chris’ hand.

A block away from the clothing store they walk past a theatre that’s advertising a shitty looking b movie from the sixties about Atlantis. For some reason, the word Atlantis sparks Zach’s brain to pull up his memories about the conversation Chris had with him last night - about Plato, and Chris’ mom’s questionable choices in childhood bedtime stories.

For one sharp, stupid second, walking in step with Chris along this New York city sidewalk, Zach actually lets himself think about what that would be like. An honest to god try at a grown up, real relationship with Chris.

What would it feel like to give into Chris’ neverending presence in his life? And what would it mean if Chris finally stepped across the line that they had both drawn in the dirt a long time ago? Fuck knew they had been toeing it for years, now.

As they bounce down the steps to catch the 63rd Street line, Zach walks the tightrope between “thinking about it” and “not thinking about it.” He sees Chris wearing only underwear in his kitchen - which isn’t unheard of now - but then he sees himself, his arms wrapped around Chris’ torso, his mouth on the curve of Chris’ ear. Then he sees the entire thing crumble, and sees himself mourning the most important friendship of his life in the process.

“This place is packed, huh?” Chris asks, as they both wedge themselves through the crowd and onto the car.

Pulsing a quick, sidetracked smile, Zach squeezes back against the pain in his chest and reaches for the closest bar, trying to steady his own body against the motion of the car. Chris is at his shoulder, his chest pressed to Zach’s elbow, and even though Zach’s fingers are firmly attached to the safety bar, he can’t help feeling empty handed as he looks over at Chris - the curl of hair behind his ear, and the stupid crinkle at the corner of his eye - standing right there, beside him.

~

**constellation six: the take out menu**

“Man, I gotta admit. I miss the bible right now,” Chris says, referring to the three ring binder that still exists back in California, in Zach’s kitchen drawer beside the steak knives and bottle openers. Chris splays his hand out across the top of Noah’s head, and curves his fingers in to scratch when Noah starts wagging his tail against the leather couch.

The aforementioned take-out bible had taken Zach years to build, and contained menus from all of the best delivery places in Silverlake and its surrounding areas. Chinese, pizza, Pho, vegan - you name it, and Zach had the menu for it.

“The point is to eat fast before we go to the bar,” Zach says, making a fan out of the paltry five take out menus that he’s been stashing on top of his fridge. He closes the DIY fan against his thigh, and then holds the small stack out for Chris to take, instead. Watching Chris thumb through the menus, he adds, “Pizza will probably be the fastest.”

Shrugging, Chris makes a face and then opens the first menu up with both hands, leaning against Noah as he holds the paper open between them, like they’re about to make a mutual decision. Zach fights back a smile and climbs up onto the couch, stepping over the arm before settling himself in on his knees on the corner.

“Pizza’s fine,” He finally shrugs, holding the pizza menu between two fingers in Zach’s general direction. Zach rolls his eyes and takes the menu from him, stopping to rub Noah’s chest in the process. Chris asks, “You can order right? I don’t want to use all my long distance minutes.”

The look Zach gives him could seriously knock him off the couch.

“Are you serious? Who even has long distance minutes anymore?” Zach asks, sounding way more offended than Chris thinks he has any right to be. Chris makes the same sour face back at him and then laughs as Zach continues, “It’s time to upgrade your cellphone game, honestly.”

Chris groans and drops his head back against the couch, rolling it side to side as he laments, “I know, you’re so twenty first century with all your Twitter followers and your, your iPad.”

“Meanwhile, Chris Pine lives by candlelight,” Zach intones, using his movie announcer voice as he opens the pizza place’s app on his iPhone and starts tapping their order together. “And communicates only by ivory letters sealed with wax stamps.”

Picking his head up off the couch, Chris raises one eyebrow and says, “Hey man, ivory letters are a big investment. A big, financial, investment.”

“So’s an iPad,” Zach replies, a sharp grin on his face as he glances over at Chris, still sitting there looking a little gobsmacked, his hand rested lightly on the top of Noah’s head. Laughing, Zach looks back down to his iPhone and adds, “Pizza’s ordered. It should be here in twenty minutes.”

Chris puts on a breathy, Star Trek-ish voice, and says, “The future is now.”

“The pizza is now,” Zach corrects, standing up. He sets his phone down on the coffee table and then steps around it, en route to the beer and wine fridge he recently plugged in beside the electric fireplace. He pauses halfway there and amends, “Well, almost now. Twenty minutes from now, now.”

When he turns back to Chris with a drink in each hand, he’s surprised to meet Chris’ gaze - level, relaxed, eyes lidded as he stares up at Zach from where he’s sitting low in his leather couch. Zach raises his eyebrows again, and then offers a smile and one of the two beers over the top of the coffee table.

“Thanks man,” Chris says, voice quiet. He waits until Zach has stepped back around the coffee table and sunk down into the couch beside he and Noah before he adds, “Where are we going tonight, exactly?”

Now that Chris’ direct gaze is off of him, Zach feels a little less warm in the face.

“Well,” He starts, scratching behind one ear. “After the delicious pizza headed our way, there’s a dance club I really want to check out. Apparently it’s got fantastic drinks and music.”

Chris presses Noah’s ears together, and intones, “As all great dance clubs should.”

“I guarantee minimal electronica,” Zach continues, totally ignoring Chris. He kicks both feet up on the coffee table, his ankles looking exceptionally white when they’re like this, framed by black socks and slightly too short sweatpants, and tips his beer back, taking a few slugs.

Just like Zach knew he would, Chris perks up at ‘minimal electronica’ - he’s always been more of a late eighties Depeche Mode type of guy. Although, to be fair, Zach does remember one particularly bleary night in Germany that had seen them both dancing to Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

“Chris Pine lives for ivory letters, wax seals, and minimal electronica,” Chris says in a deep voice, finally letting go of Noah’s ears. His hand trails down the dog’s neck instead, fingers hooking into the bandana wrapped and tied around his collar.

Noah seems to love all of the extra attention. Everytime Skunk twitches in his sleep, Noah sends a weary glance across the room. Zach is actually surprised that Harold hasn’t made more of an appearance, either.

“You are such a weirdo,” Zach laughs, one elbow swaying up in the air as he tries to smooth down the hair on the back of his head. It’s a situation he isn’t going to be able to fix without product, but he won’t go down without a fight. At his choice of words, Chris looks over at him amused, a curious look on his face.

He licks his lips and asks, “Why am I a weirdo, exactly?”

“You just are,” Zach grins, still trying to raze his hair. He shrugs a little before continuing, “You’re like this typical looking Southern California beatnik, you love cars and models and food - potentially all equally - but once you peel that layer back, you’re just this strange guy who laughs at his own jokes and reads Barnaby Rudge for fun.”

Chris can’t help it, he starts laughing and grinning, kind of, his eyes crinkling up as he shrugs.

“That’s me, man, can’t help what the devil gives you,” He shrugs, eyes glossy with amusement as he looks over at Zach, over the planes of Noah’s fluffy head.

Zach looks back, his gaze weighted against Chris’ face. He doesn’t mean to, but he adds, voice quiet, “You are the most captivating person I think I’ve ever met.”

“Zach,” Chris replies, like it’s a knee jerk reaction, his equivalent to “bless you” or “please” and “thank you.”

Mouth twisting into a little smile, Zach shrugs one shoulder, and looks a little embarrassed in the face as he tries to distract himself by reaching for Noah instead, scratching at the top of his front leg. When he glances up after a second, he realizes that Chris hasn’t let it go. He’s still staring back at Zach, watching, his eyes bright and wide and blue.

“I, uh,” Zach falters as Noah jumps down off of the couch and stops a few feet away to sit down on the wood floor and scratch at the same spot Zach was just rubbing at. Zach braces himself for impact, and says, “I don’t necessarily know what to do anymore.”

Chris doesn’t move. He says, “Okay.”

“When I’m in New York I’m at a loss. It’s physical, like losing a limb,” Zach starts, and he sees the exact moment when Chris’ brain clicks and he realizes what Zach is referencing. “The fight to not be selfish has become all consuming, because if we do this - and we go down in flames - everything changes.”

Licking his lips, Chris opens his mouth to answer - right as the doorbell rings.

“For fucks sake,” He says instead, the heavy moment between them broken as both dogs start to bark, and Zach hears Harold fall off of something in the other room. It’s sudden chaos, and all Zach can do it stand up and try to remember where he put his wallet when they got back from the village this morning.

Offering a half hearted laugh, Zach looks at Chris and says, “Technology, huh?”

~

**constellation seven: the lack of personal space**

That night, Zach feels like he’s running a marathon.

Once the pizza guy had left, they had filled the silence by wolfing down a few slices of pizza each, and guzzling a few beers. It had been quick, methodical, as they’d changed and called a cab and said goodbye to the animals. In the cab they had each carried their halves of the conversation with the cab driver, talking about the local guy who’d recently jumped in front of the L train and the way 5th Avenue and Broadway had become a neverending traffic jam.

Now, inside the club, they check their coats - and Chris’ umbrella, which he had brought against Zach’s wishes “just in case it rained” - and head for the bar, winding around couples dancing together and a bridal party taking shots for Instagram with the dance floor as their background.

Honestly, Zach is already a little drunk as he hangs over the bar and orders two double jack and cokes.

He feels a hand on his hip right as he’s watching the bartender fill their glasses with ice, and half turns around to find Chris standing there behind him, his head turned to the side as he watches a particularly disjointed group of people pass them by.

Zach turns back to the bartender, dick already half hard from the close proximity of Chris and the grey area they have recently fallen into, and forks over a twenty.

“Thanks,” He yells over the music - currently The Cult, as Zach had promised - before snagging both of their drinks from the bar top and turning around to face Chris, holding one of the two glasses between them. He leans close and yells, “Here.”

Chris’ hand wraps around the glass and he yells a ‘thanks’ back as they start towards the dance floor. Zach’s not drunk enough to start dancing like he knows he inevitably will, but that won’t stop them from finding a booth on the floor in the meantime. He keeps close to Chris as they start weaving through the fringes of the crowd, Chris glancing back at him every time they take a particularly mean detour.

They find one open booth in a corner, sandwiched between a group of gay looking bros wearing tank tops and hair gel, and a table of California tanned girls. In an alternate reality, Zach muses, they would likely all be on an MTV reality show together. For now, they have clearly both settled for getting wasted in a gay club on the west side.

“We should get some shots,” Chris yells, laughing at the face Zach makes as they both slide into the booth.

Sipping his jack and coke, Zach leans in and replies, “I’d like at least a few hours of dignity before I black out.”

“That can be arranged,” Chris grins, shoulders scrunched up around his ears as he leans over the table, close enough for Zach to be able to hear him through the pounding bass. The fake candle in the center of the table lights Chris’ face up with splashes of red and yellow, making him look exactly like the little devil sitting on Zach’s shoulder that they both know he could be.

Grinning wide, Zach shakes his head and says, “You are trouble tonight.”

Chris raises his eyebrows and looks particularly happy with himself as he settles back into his side of the booth, spinning the straw around in his drink a few times before he pulls it out and sets it down on the table top instead. He brings his glass up and takes a few sips, gaze trailing to the side, away from Zach’s face and back to the dance floor.

“I’m gonna get my dance on,” Chris says after a minute, eyes trailing back to look Zach in the face. Zach raises his eyebrows and makes a ‘bring it on’ face as he raises his glass and takes another sip. “Two more drinks, and I’ll throw down the gauntlet.”

The jack and cokes go fast. Chris does the next bar run, and gets them a shot of tequila each as well as a refill on their mixed drinks. They do the shots of tequila first, salt on the curves of their hands and limes at the ready as they tilt their heads back and make faces as they stick the limes between their teeth.

Chris stacks the two shot glasses together at the edge of the table and swallows against the lingering taste of tequila at the back of his tongue. They both use their jack and cokes to chase the acidic taste of the tequila, Zach sucking hard on his straw, Chris fighting back against the ice cubes that fall forward from the bottom of his glass.

“Alright,” Chris says, bracing both palms against the edge of the table a few songs later, as Zach is navigating his straw through the last few sips of his drink. When Zach offers him a curious look over the tabletop, Chris raises his eyebrows and says, “It’s about to go down. This song is my jam.”

Zach is about to say something like ‘how did I know Iggy Azalea would be your jam?’ but Chris is gone already, sliding out from behind his side of the table and walking towards the dance floor, moving in sync like the waves in the ocean Zach missed so much sometimes.

Hurriedly, Zach throws back the last mouthful of his booze and follows, his shoes feeling like lead against the ground as he uses the top of Chris’ head in the crowd as a lifeline. Halfway into the crowd Chris stops and turns around, and when Zach focuses in on his face among the other faces in the crowd, he realizes that something has changed.

The song ends as Zach passes the last few bodies separating them. Funnily enough, it changes to an electronica song, a remix with low dub and warm, deep notes. When he’s within Chris’ earshot, he leans in and tries to level his voice above the bass as he says, “Looks like you missed your chance to throw down.”

“Strange!” Chris yells back, his mouth close to Zach’s ear as they lean together, their bodies not yet touching as Chris’ hand goes to Zach’s elbow. Zach tilts his head to try and look Chris in the eye, but Chris shakes his head and says, “I was just thinking the opposite.”

Zach is about to ask for clarification on that, when the hand Chris had on his elbow moves to his ribs instead. His palm is warm there, even through the t-shirt Zach is wearing, and it pauses on his ribs before sliding further, lower, until Chris wraps his fingers around Zach’s lower back instead.

“This is it,” Zach manages to say, the words tumbling out even as all of the blood in his body rushes to his hips, his dick, his heart. Chris looks back at him evenly, the house lights spinning dizzying, multicolored flashes of color against the deep blue of Chris’ eyes, the familiar angles of his face. Zach seals his own words as he brings a hand up to rest against the side of Chris’ neck. He adds, “We don’t get to go back.”

The words spark something in Chris. He moves quickly, grabbing the sides of Zach’s face with both hands as he brings their faces eye level.

He tilts his head forward, both eyebrows raising as he looks Zach in the eye and says, “I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Zach manages to agree, though the word is hardly out of his mouth before Chris’ lips are on it.

And suddenly Zach is drowning, the bodies around them a human whirlpool as he and Chris grab at one another, dying to hold on. Zach is hot and cold at the same time, and he can’t help but need Chris so much closer as they begin to move together, Zach’s arm coming up to loop around Chris’ shoulders.

They kiss one another as the song sinks into a low, deep rhythm, and as they emerge above the break of finally giving in, Chris pulls back, hands still holding onto either side of Zach’s face, mouth already pink, eyes bleary and wild. They stare at one another for a long second, bewildered as the world seems to move on around them, before Chris’ face cracks into a smile and he leans in, his hands going around to the back of Zach’s neck as they kiss again.

~

**constellation eight: the broken umbrella**

“I still can’t believe you brought that stupid thing,” Zach laughs, staggering to the side as Chris grins back at him and reaches one hand out, the other carrying the umbrella that he’d insisted on bringing before they’d left Zach’s apartment earlier in the night. Zach laughs harder as Chris grabs his hand and makes a face, pretty clearly drunk as he swings their arms back and forth, and pops the umbrella open in his other hand.

Chris spins the umbrella around, narrowly missing taking out one of Zach’s neighbors potted plants, and says, “This is some singing in the rain shit, man. I could seriously not be happier right now.”

“It’s not raining,” Zach says, letting go of Chris’ hand to wrap his fingers around his wrist instead. At the change of contact Chris stills, a wide grin spreading across his face as Zach turns him around and crowds him up against the brownstone just a few houses down from his own.

Licking his lips, Chris looks up at Zach and drops the open umbrella without meaning to. He hears it hit the sidewalk, and feels the stretched fabric brush his leg as it rolls away. 

“Funny you should say that,” Chris murmurs, voice dropping low as Zach leans in. “It feels like it just recently stopped.”

Zach grins quick, a pulse of teeth that gets cut off by his own desire to press Chris up against the wall and kiss him again, in this dark street in New York where he has been waiting forever. Chris makes a noise against Zach’s mouth and pulls Zach closer, one hand on the nape of his neck and the other twisted into the front of his jacket.

“I am rock fucking hard right now,” Zach breathes, pulling away a few inches. It makes Chris laugh, that smoky sounding slow burn that comes from the back of his throat as they lock eyes again, in that way that makes Zach’s lizard brain short circuit.

Chris touches the hair at the back of Zach’s head with his fingers, and something about it - the slow, casual drawl of Chris’ movement - makes Zach snap on the inside. 

Without thinking about it, he grabs Chris by the hips with both hands. The movement throws them both off balance - their combined weight makes Chris step backwards into the opened umbrella on the floor, and it makes Zach fall further into Chris, their knees bumping into one another as they go.

“Fuck,” Chris manages to groan, and whether it’s because he broke the umbrella with his foot or because Zach is rubbing him through his pants is up for debate. Zach would bet on himself, though, as he palms Chris through his jeans and presses him into the brick wall. Chris’ hips jerk up against Zach’s hand before he shakes his head and pulls himself upright by Zach’s shoulder. He leans into Zach’s face and says, “If you don’t fuck me in the next city block I am definitely, definitely going to come in my pants.”

Zach groans and pulls away, then rethinks his knee jerk reaction and leans back in, grabbing Chris’ face with both hands so he can kiss him and then say, “Shut up, like seriously, shut up.”

“What a glooorious feeling,” Chris manages to crack, eyes crinkled and happy despite the fact that he’s working with razor burn on his mouth and a well established boner in his pants. Zach laughs at his stupid reference - he can’t help it, some part of his system is still hardwired to giggle like a little kid when Chris is an idiot like this - and pulls Chris up from the wall, brushing the brick dust off of his shoulder in the process.

Ever the environmentalist, Zach picks the broken umbrella up off of the floor and deposits it in the first city garbage can he finds between where they got dropped off at the end of the block by the cab, and where Zach’s front door waits for them.

As Zach is fumbling with his keys, drunkenly trying to choose the correct one out of the dozen that suddenly seem totally worthless, Chris starts unbuckling his belt from behind, grinning wide as he presses his teeth into the middle of Zach’s back, suddenly at a perfect height when he’s one step down.

“Oh my fucking god,” Zach finally breathes, when he gets the door unlocked and Chris has done everything other than pull Zach’s cock right out of his jeans. Zipper down, Zach holds his pants closed as he toes the dogs in - both of whom are barking and clearly very glad to see that Chris and Zach have returned - and then turns back, grabbing Chris by the jacket lapel once he has the door closed.

Chris smiles against Zach’s mouth as they stumble around the front hallway, managing to get their jackets and shoes off as they pull at one another, Chris trying to push Zach’s pants down without pulling away from his mouth, Zach running his hands up and under Chris’ t-shirt, hands and palms cold from the fall weather outside.

They bumble their way to Zach’s room, past the couch that still has Chris’ overnight bag sitting in front of it, past the kitchen that they had both stood in a day before, lonely, only a few steps away from one another. Zach gets his bedroom door opened, and closes it before the dogs have a chance to follow them in. On autopilot, he moves over to his dresser and pulls the top drawer opened, one hand rummaging around for a condom and lube as the other unbuttons the front of his own shirt.

Chris is standing beside the bed as Zach turns around. He’s got his shirt off and is working on his pants when Zach tackles him, naked except for his underwear, and pulls him down to the bed. Laughing, Chris rolls so he’s on his back, and starts kicking his legs as Zach half stands back up to help pull his pants the rest of the way off.

“Sorry, those were tight,” Chris apologizes, arms coming out and around Zach’s shoulders as Zach falls back on top of him, one hand bracing his own weight against the mattress as the other slides down, finger looping into the elastic band of Chris’ underwear as he begins dragging them off.

Zach breathes a laugh against Chris’ face and then kisses him, saying, “I noticed.”

It’s a cat and mouse game as they strip one another down. Chris goes for Zach’s cock but gets a “don’t” and a hand wrapped around his wrist, until Zach can pull it back up and press it into the pillow beside their heads instead. They kiss as Zach gets the condom on, but then Zach gets sidetracked by the way that Chris wraps his legs around Zach’s middle, hands coming up to rest on either sides of Zach’s rib cage.

“You ready?” Zach asks, braced over Chris with one elbow beneath his head, the other hand curled into the pillow beside him, steadying both of their weights.

Chris slaps Zach’s side and murmurs, voice cracking, “Plato, man, remember?”

That startles a laugh out of Zach before he leans in, kissing Chris solid on the mouth as he sinks into him.

“Damnit,” Zach groans, trying to go slow despite his instinct to just fuck. Chris is breathing heavy, exhaling out of his nose pressed tight against Zach’s cheek, his fingers digging into the muscles of Zach’s back. He tightens his legs around Zach’s body and angles his hips up, rolling them against Zach’s as he tries to get Zach to sink deeper.

Once he knows he can’t go any deeper, Zach pulls back a bit, so they can look one another in the face, and watches as Chris writhes against the pillow, red faced and puffy mouthed, eyes half closed as he tries to look back up at Zach.

“I am drunk and seriously, seriously not going to last very long,” Chris manages to say, mouth dropping open as Zach shifts inside of him. He presses his head back into the pillow and groans, one hand coming up to grab Zach by the back of the head as Zach starts pumping.

Zach has always fucked like a champ, athletic and long and lean, and that hasn’t changed, not since the last time they were together like this. Chris’ body is familiar and warm and responsive as Zach almost loses it a few times, pulling out and running a hand through his hair before he’s able to push in again. But slow isn’t an option tonight, and Chris reaches forward to wrap his arms around Zach’s body, holding him by the lower back so he can direct Zach’s thrusts, head tucked in beside Zach’s as Zach groans and bites Chris’ shoulder.

“I, agh, fuck,” Chris manages to say, before he’s coming everywhere, hips pumping up into the air as Zach continues to fuck him as hard as his drunken balance will allow.

Zach gets three more pumps out before he’s coming, too, feeling light headed as he holds Chris by the shoulders and fucks him hard, hips snapping up everytime he pulls Chris’ body down.

He lands on top of Chris’ body, both of them sweaty and out of breath as they lay there, Chris dazedly looking up at the ceiling over Zach’s shoulder, Zach swallowing compulsively, trying to blink the sweat out of his eyes as he stares at Chris’ ear for no reason other than that it’s directly in front of him.

“Yeah,” Chris finally manages, turning his head to the side so they can half-assed kiss, their bottom lips pressing together before they both give up and let their heads fall back against the pillow. Swallowing, Chris takes a deep breath and laughs a little bit before repeating, softer, “Yeah.”

~

**constellation nine: the ridiculously long brunch line**

After walking the dogs the next morning, they wander the few blocks that separate them from the closest breakfast place.

Today, the world is decidedly lighter, Zach decides, as he walks in step alongside Chris. They hadn’t really talked about it, other than pressing a few hungover kisses against one anothers mouths in bed, but the shift is palpable. Everytime Zach finds himself grinning, he looks to the side to realize that Chris is doing exactly the same thing.

“My flight is in eight hours and I don’t even care,” Chris tells him, laughing, as they approach a small bungalow looking breakfast place that has a line out the door, far past the chalkboard sign that sits on the sidewalk.

Grinning, Zach tucks his hands deep into his own pockets and gets in line behind another young couple, both blond and well off looking, the girl with her Hunter boots and the guy with his Belstaff quilted jacket.

“I am… decidedly happy,” Zach says, rolling around on the ball of his foot to look at Chris.

Chris smiles back and him and raises an eyebrow, asking, “Just happy? No euphoria, no rhapsody, no - ”

“Delerium,” Zach says, taking a step forward as the line moves a fraction. “Is the word you’re looking for.”

It makes Chris split and crack up, eyes happy as he watches Zach’s reaction to his laugh. They stand like that for a long moment, the weight of everything just suddenly gone, shoulder to shoulder as they wait in line for breakfast.

“I seriously feel like I’m in the twilight zone right now,” Chris says after a moment, glancing over at Zach as they take another step forward and listen as the maitre d at the head of the line calls for a group of four.

Zach raises his eyebrow and asks, “How do you mean?”

“I just never…” Chris trails off and can’t help but looking bewildered as he shakes his head and then repeats, sounding amused, “I just never.”

Bumping their shoulders together, Zach nods to the front of the line and says, “This way to the future, remember?”

“Yeah,” Chris laughs, bumping back. “I do.”

~

**constellation ten: the rent hike**

A month later, Chris is rummaging through a pile of scripts on his desk when the phone rings.

“Hello?” He asks, not looking at the screen before he picks it up. He sticks the phone between his shoulder and ear as he tosses a paperback book from the desktop and onto his office chair, then pulls out the piece of paper that was hiding beneath it. It isn’t the specific registration form he was looking for, but it looks important enough, so he sets it in its own little pile to the side.

On the other end of the line there’s the sound of Skunk barking before Zach says, “Hey babe.”

“Oh, hey. I thought you were in meetings all afternoon,” Chris replies, his hand pausing on top of another stack of papers.

He really needs to invest in one of those organizational people, he decides, belatedly.

“I am, just came back to let the dogs out,” Zach says, barely pausing for a moment before he adds, “You know, the weirdest thing happened today.”

Chris picks the paperback up off of his office chair and sits down in its place, letting the cell phone slide back into his hand as he flips through the book’s pages with the other. He raises his eyebrows and asks, “Oh yeah?”

“My landlord is hiking the price of my lease up,” He explains, before adding, “I just found out this morning.”

Something sizzles in the pit of Chris’ stomach. Something hopeful, and not a lot unlike the same emotion he had felt standing in Zach’s apartment that day, before things had changed.

“That’s…” Chris trails off, looking for the right word. He stops on a random page in the book, and frowns when the first word he sees - recumbent - won’t do him any good here. “What does that mean, exactly?”

He can pretty much hear Zach’s grin as he says, “You remember last time you were here? When I called you way too early in the morning, and you were waxing poetic about all of the liquor you were going to drink during your three day vacation?”

“Yeah,” Chris laughs. He does remember it perfectly.

It had been early - like, too early - in the morning, before dawn had really broken, and Zach had called him because Zach was always calling him before he’d had a proper chance to greet the day. Chris had been laying in bed and he’d been thinking about where Zach was, how he looked and what he was thinking.

“Well, set a reminder in your phone,” Zach says, already starting to laugh because he’s clearly cracking himself up. “And get the booze ready, cause daddy’s coming home.”


End file.
